


Dead Scene

by Toad1



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toad1/pseuds/Toad1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Party Poison sinks back into depression, leaving a bewildered and frustrated Kobra Kid to deal with it. When a shocking piece of news makes it way to the Zones, will it help them rebuild their relationship? A fic that tries to explore the relationship between the brothers, and expand the Killjoy universe. (Relationship between the Way brothers is platonic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kobra sat in the Trans Am driver’s seat with his arms folded. A motorcycle slowly puttered by on the highway, spewing exhaust. The driver turned his head and waved, and Kobra stiffly raised a hand in return.   
  
A moment later, the passenger door opened and Poison stumbled in with a cup of coffee. He wedged the plastic red cup in the cup holder while he pulled out his seatbelt. Kobra peered inside, then winced. The cup held a thin brownish liquid that smelled bitter. A few months ago, he would have teased Poison about brewing weak coffee. But now he silently placed a hand on the steering wheel and switched on the ignition.  
  
Poison slowly sipped his coffee as they drove down the highway. His eyes were dull and framed with a sickly hue, and his stringy hair stuck up at odd angles. The only sound in the car was the hum of the engine. Kobra eyed the glove compartment, which held several cassette tapes tied together with a rubber band. He’d caught a Hot Punch tape after the guitarist threw a handful into the crowd a week ago, and their peppy songs filled him with energy. He started to reach for the glove compartment, then glanced at Poison. Playing music would probably lead to a tense conversation. He sighed to himself and gripped the steering wheel.  
  
Five minutes later, Kobra thought he would burst from the strained silence. He glanced at Poison again, whose eyes never left the road. Hot anger surged inside him. Why should Poison’s moodiness keep Kobra from listening to music? Kobra wrenched open the glove compartment, pulled out the orange tape, jammed it in the slot, and pressed _PLAY._  
  
A fast-paced drum beat filled the car. Kobra avoided eye contact with Poison as the first verse kicked in. By the second verse, Kobra had started to relax in his seat, and occasionally drummed on the steering wheel.  
  
“Could you turn it down?” Poison said suddenly.  
  
Kobra turned to see Poison looking wearily at the tape deck.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Could you turn your music down? It’s so loud.”  
  
Kobra jabbed the volume button. “Is that good?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
Kobra turned back to the road. They passed a car parked on the side of the road with the trunk open, revealing folded clothes, rusty scrap metal, and a tool kit with mismatched wrenches. A few people hovered around it, including a woman with messy brown hair and baggy blue shorts who held a plastic bag. A green-haired man who seemed to be the owner stood next to the trunk with a proud smile on his face.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Poison waved a hand irritably. “Can you just--turn it off?”  
  
“You want me to turn it off?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s making my head hurt.”  
  
Kobra grit his teeth and punched the _STOP_ button. Poison muttered something into his cup.  
  
“What? What was that?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Dude, I just heard you say something.”  
  
“I said you need to calm down.”  
  
“I-- _I_ need to calm down?” Kobra laughed shortly. “Am I the one who can’t listen to a ten minute tape without bitching about it?”  
  
“Stop it, Kid.”  
  
“Stop what? What? What am I doing?”  
  
Poison shook his head and muttered something into his cup.  
  
“What? Am I overreacting? Huh? Is that what you’re saying into your fucking cup?”  
  
“That’s enough, Kid.”  
  
Kobra’s hands shook. “That’s enough? You want to know what I’ve had enough of? I’ve had enough your bitching and muttering and your fucking passive aggressive bullshit--” He jabbed toward Poison with his index finger. “Every day, man! I deal with this bullshit every fucking day! And you know what? Fuck you!”  
  
Poison started to take a drink, but Kobra smacked the cup out of his hands. Poison jumped as the coffee splashed onto the dashboard, speckled his jeans, and dripped onto the floor. The cup rolled around on the floor and the rest of the coffee leaked into the carpet. Poison sat frozen in place, his eyes wide. Kobra stared at the mess for a moment before his eyes darted back to the road. A hysterical feeling welled up inside him. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he felt a sudden urge to put his arms around Poison and cry. He stiffened and gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white until the feeling passed and was replaced with numb indifference.  
  
When Kobra could manage to acknowledge Poison again, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a towel, swiped it across the dashboard, and dropped it in Poison’s lap. Poison wiped his jeans, then laid the towel over the stain on the carpet. He picked up the empty cup and placed it in the cup holder like a little boy cleaning up after himself. Guilt lingered at the edges of Kobra’s mind. _But he was driving me insane, he does this on every drive, every time I’m around him...  
  
_ A hand-painted metal sign appeared on the side of the road that read _Welcome to North Waterfall. Population: 200+._ Kobra drove past wooden shacks, aluminum houses, trailers, and tents until he came to a cream-colored trailer with a sign above the window that read _NORTH WATERFALL SANITATION DEPT._ Half a dozen people were lined up outside, carrying jars, jugs, bowls, cups, and pots of murky water. Kobra parked outside the trailer, stepped out of the car, and popped open the trunk. Inside were three jugs of dirty water collected from a motel gutter. Sand, grime, and dirt floated in the slop.  
  
Kobra bent over to pick up two jugs, then stopped when heard “Hey! Poison! Kobra!” He closed his eyes and steadied himself, then stood up and raised a hand in greeting. A girl in a pink jacket was hurrying toward them, with plastic baggies full of water clenched in her fist. Poison grinned and said “Hey there!” Other people in the line looked at them with excitement, and a few started to head over.  
  
Kobra smiled faintly, shook hands weakly, gave quick hugs, and let his mind wander while he listened to stories and praise. Poison greeted everyone as if they were old friends. He grinned toothily, gave tight hugs, chatted and laughed, and seized their hands in both of his and shook. Kobra watched him closely with his eyes narrowed. The last time Poison had shown him that kind of affection was three months ago, when he hugged him after hearing on the radio that a woman in nearby Jacksonville had started making soap and toothpaste. “No more of that greasy city shit!” he said.  
  
After Poison and Kobra had greeted everyone, they took their places at the end of the line. Poison smiled whenever someone looked back at him, but otherwise stood with his shoulders sunk and his expression empty. Guilt gnawed at Kobra's conscience as he eyed the coffee stains on Poison’s knees.  
  
“Hey,” he said in a low voice. Poison turned to him, a disinterested look on his face. “Listen, uh...I’m sorry about earlier.”  
  
A tiny part of him thought that Poison would soften, smile at him, even laugh and say “Don’t worry about it, Kid.” But Poison’s expression didn’t change. “It’s fine,” he said.  
  
“No, I mean it. I shouldn’t have gotten upset like that. It was stupid.”  
  
Poison shook his head. “It’s okay, Kid,” he said softly. He started to turn around, but Kobra quickly placed a hand on his elbow. Poison glanced up at him, and he looked at him desperately.   
  
“I--I’m really sorry, man,” he said in a strained voice.  
  
Poison studied him for a moment, then nodded and turned around. Kobra’s eyes welled up. His hands shook and he gripped the jug handles. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to drop the jugs and grab Poison’s shoulders and shake him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he’d shout. “Huh? Why are you doing this to me? You can’t come out of it for even five fucking seconds?” He’d shake him until Poison snapped out of his apathetic fog and stared up at Kobra with wide, frightened eyes.  
  
The line slowly moved forward. Kobra’s arms began to grow sore from carrying the jugs, and he placed them on the ground and folded his arms. Poison clutched his jug against his chest like a baby. Eventually they reached the trailer door, and a voice inside said “All right, who’s next?”  
  
They stepped into a long trailer with grey carpeting, wood cabinets, and white countertops. A sink full of empty plastic bottles and canned food stood next to the refrigerator, across from a booth with scratchy flowery cushions. A young man with dark blue hair sat in the booth with his hands folded together as if in prayer. He wore a baggy T-shirt with a circular logo that read _SCISSOR SISTERS, INC.,_ with a drawing of an Asian woman with short orange hair in the center. Sitting on the table was a large white cylindrical device with a small digital screen, a Better Living logo on the side, and a water tap that hung off the edge of the table.  
  
“Hey there,” Cool Blue said, drumming his fingertips together. He nodded toward the jug in Poison’s arms. “Here to get your water sanitized?”  
  
“Yep,” Poison said, hefting up his jug. “We heard this was the place to do it.”  
  
“You heard right.” He patted the tabletop. “Set ‘em right here.”  
  
They laid the jugs on the table with a _thunk._ Blue pulled one jug toward him and started unscrewing the cap.  
  
“You guys paying with cash today?” he said.  
  
“Yeah,” Kobra said, taking his wallet out of his pocket. “How much? One carbon?”  
  
“Yup, one carb. _Uno carbo._ ” He patted the table again and Kobra laid one bill on the table. Blue slid it over, then stuffed it in his pocket. He pried a cap off the top of the device and tilted the jug above it. Murky water poured into the device with a _glug glug_ sound. “You guys got any big plans for this water?” he said.  
  
“Nah, just drinking,” Kobra said. “Might do some cooking, too.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” He shook out the last drops of water, then replaced the lid and pressed a button on the panel. “You like to cook? Not a whole lot of cooks around here.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s not bad. Haven’t cooked much in a while, though. I used to make bread every week.”  
  
“Bread every week?” The device started to hum. “That sounds like paradise.”  
  
“Well, it wasn’t _good_ bread. It was pretty tough and chewy, but we didn’t have much to work with.”  
  
“Yeah, I hear that.” After a few minutes, the humming stopped. Blue leaned over and checked the panel. “All right, looks like your water is ready to drink. Just turn on that faucet there and pour it into your jug.”  
  
Poison took the empty jug, held it up to the faucet, and switched it on. Clear water gushed out, and a tiny genuine smile flashed on Poison’s face. Against Kobra’s will, a spark of hope flared up.  
  
After all three jugs were cleaned and refilled, Kobra and Poison exited out the back door and placed the jugs in the trunk, wrapping them securely in a large scratchy towel. Kobra climbed into the driver’s seat and switched on the engine, then turned to Poison, who was already in the passenger’s seat. His expression was empty once more. Kobra shook his head in disappointment, then pulled back onto the road.  
  
They drove in silence for several minutes. Finally, Kobra said “This new water purification thing is going to come in handy, huh?” He turned to Poison, his stomach clenched in anticipation.  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said. “Good for cooking.”  
  
“Oh yeah. Definitely.”  
  
Poison turned and stared out the window. _Goddammit._ Kobra sucked in his breath and kept himself from smacking the steering wheel.


	2. Chapter 2

When Kobra pulled up to the diner, Ghoul stood up from a plastic chair placed beside the front entrance. He clutched a newspaper, his face grim. Kobra looked at him curiously, then stepped out and headed toward the trunk. Before he could pop it open, Ghoul hurried up and thrust the newspaper in his hands.  
  
“Here,” he said, not making eye contact. “You need to read this.”  
  
“What?” Kobra turned the newspaper back and forth. “What happened? Another riot?”  
  
“No, uh, here--” Ghoul took the newspaper, folded it back, and pointed to a square of text, then took a deep breath and jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Just read it. Quickly.”  
  
Kobra held up the newspaper and peered at the heading. _OBITUARIES._ Kobra frowned. Was it his aunt Wendy? A family friend? Someone he’d known in school? A former Killjoy? He steadied himself, then turned to the box of text Ghoul had indicated.  
  
Beside the text was a photo of an elderly woman with a heavily lined face, dark eye makeup, and poofy blonde hair. For a moment, she looked only vaguely familiar. Then Kobra recognized the familiar features beneath the age, and disbelief swept over him, followed by numb horror.  
  
 _DONNA LEE WAY, mother of the infamous rebel brothers “Party Poison” and “Kobra Kid” died at age 63 of a brain aneurysm. She was known as a lively, outgoing woman with great affection for her friends and close family members, as well as a love for antique dinnerware. Mrs. Way is survived by her sister Wendy and three cousins._  
  
Kobra stared at the print until the words became meaningless. His hands shook as they gripped the newspaper. He vaguely heard Poison say something behind him, and Ghoul gently took the paper. Kobra sank to the knees in the sand and buried his face in his hands. Disbelief overtook him. His mother couldn’t be dead. He’d been planning all month to try contacting her again. She couldn’t possibly die. How could she ever die? Nothing that horrible could ever happen, it was always some vague future event that Kobra would never reach...  
  
“When did it happen?” Poison said in a choked voice.  
  
“A couple of weeks ago,” Ghoul said. “Pony brought me the issue while you guys were out today.”  
  
Kobra’s stomach twisted. She’d been gone for two weeks, and they had no idea. When he’d thought of her, he’d imagined her chatting animatedly with Wendy about a new china plate, trying on a shiny jacket at her favorite clothing store, or fixing dinner as if her children still lived at home. In his imagination, she always had the youthful face he remembered from his childhood, free of age lines and sags. She wore a blue flower-patterned dress and a white apron. Always young, always animated, always happy.  
  
A numb haze settled over Kobra’s mind. He vaguely felt Ghoul take his hand and pull him to his feet, then wrap his arm around his shoulders, lead him back to the diner, and guide him into a booth. Ghoul slid into the seat across from him while Poison wandered into the kitchen where he and Kobra slept. Jet brought the water jugs inside and locked them in the storage closet, then followed Poison into the kitchen. A moment later, a quiet murmuring began.  
  
The murmuring ceased after a few minutes, and the only sounds in the diner were the clock ticking and cars and motorcycles occasionally driving past. Kobra stared off into space, his body shaky and weak. The world seemed to slow to a halt. There was no laundry to wash, no food to cook, no depressed older brother, no outside Killjoys who might wander in. There was only his mother’s death, spelled out in cold black-and-white print.  
  
“How are you feeling, Kid?” Ghoul said after a while.  
  
Kobra didn’t respond for a few moments. “Weak,” he said. “I don’t know. I feel drained.”  
  
“Yeah? Do you want to go lie down for a while?”  
  
Kobra raised his head and peered through the kitchen doorway, where green tile floors and the edge of a steel grill were visible. He wanted to collapse on his mattress, close his eyes, and let sleep overtake his body. But he stiffened when he remembered Poison.  
  
“No,” he said, rubbing his hand across his face. “No, uh...can I just sit here for a while?”  
  
“Yeah. Of course.”  
  
Time oozed by like a slug on a sidewalk as Kobra sat silently in his booth. A cold numbness had overtaken his body. Ghoul’s transmitter buzzed once, but he quickly told Chow Mein that he wouldn’t be able to make the drop-off today. Jet and Poison were quiet except for the occasional murmuring. For the next hour, the normally busy diner was quiet and still.  
  
Suddenly, a blonde girl wearing an orange helmet knocked on the window in front of the booth, making Kobra jump. While he placed a hand on his chest, his heart racing, Ghoul stepped outside and spoke to her. When he gestured to Kobra, she glanced at him and bit her lip. She nodded sympathetically, then swept her hair over her shoulders, climbed back onto her motorcycle, and drove off.  
  
Eventually, Kobra stood up and pushed the hair from his face.  
  
“I guess I’ll go start the laundry,” he said quietly.  
  
Ghoul stood up. “Oh, no, sit down. I’ll take care of it.”   
  
“No, it’s fine, I--I’ve got it. I’ve gotta get my mind off it for a while.”  
  
Ghoul nodded, then watched as he headed for the storage room. He took out the wicker basket of dirty clothes, a water jug, and a small plastic bucket, then brought them to the counter. After pouring a carefully measured inch of water from the jug, he swirled a hunk of soap in the bucket until a few suds and white streaks appeared, and lifted the first wad of fabric from the pile. Kobra held it by the shoulders and spread it out. It was a black T-shirt with _KEEP SMILING_ printed on the front. Poison had worn it so much that the letters were cracked and faded.  
  
Kobra dunked the shirt in the water before he could think about it, then wrung it forcefully, squeezing until his hands burned, twisting the fabric into tight ropes. Cool water gushed between his fingers. For a moment Kobra forgot about his mother, as he put all his focus into wrenching the shirt. But the obituary popped back into his mind and the realization crashed over him with full force. His hands shook and he dug his fingernails into the shirt. If Poison were here, he could spill his emotions out to him. Or collapse against him and cry. But Poison was lying in bed, probably staring blankly up at the ceiling, thinking about how difficult he had it, _but you’re not the only one with problems you selfish asshole, you used to care about me, but now it’s all about you, and your whining and your silence and your self-pity and your fucked-up empty stare--  
  
_ “Whoa! Kobra! Stop!” Ghoul said, hurrying up to the counter.  
  
Kobra looked down and realized that he was gripping the shirt so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He was twisting it in opposite directions, and the threads stitched along the neckline were about to pull apart.  
  
Kobra released the shirt and dropped it into the bucket with a small splash. Tears prickled in his eyes and his throat felt raw. Ghoul started to speak, but Kobra leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and cradled his face in his hands.  
  
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Ghoul said gently. “What is it?”  
  
“I can’t take this anymore,” Kobra choked out.  
  
“Your mother?”  
  
“Everything. Poison. He’s so fucked up, he wouldn’t even talk to me, I can’t deal with this without hi--”  
  
Suddenly Jet appeared in the kitchen doorway. Kobra lowered his hands and looked up, and Jet wordlessly walked over to him and opened his arms. Kobra wrapped his arms around him and wept into his shoulder.  
  
“I’m so sorry for you, Kid,” Jet said after they broke apart. Kobra nodded and murmured his thanks. “I think you and your brother should spend some time together.”  
  
Kobra laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”  
  
“Well, if you feel this way, you need to talk to him.”  
  
“Talk about what? He doesn’t want to talk to me. He’ll just give me that fucking blank stare.”  
  
Jet studied him seriously. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly there was a knock at the door. They all turned to see the girl with the orange helmet standing in front of the door, clutching a handful of weeds. She nodded and smiled sadly at Kobra as if to say _Yes, you! Come on over._ Her sad smile grew wider as he approached.  
  
“I’m so sorry about your mother,” she said when he opened the door. She handed him a bundle of grass, prickly weeds, and yellow flowers tied with a piece of string. “These are for you. And these are for your brother.” She handed him another bundle with purple flowers, then leaned forward and peered inside the diner. “Is he here?”  
  
“Oh, no, he’s...he’s sleeping,” Kobra said as he took the flowers. “Thank you.” He held out his free hand for her to shake.  
  
She seized it and shook it vigorously. “I wish I could do more,” she said. “Back in the city, when my grandmother died, people brought over lots of food. We had a whole turkey and a bowl of potato salad and about five casseroles--we didn’t have to cook for a week. I wish I could give you some of mine.” She smiled sadly again and patted his hand.  
  
Kobra tried to smile. Memories of his mother cooking dinner while he and Poison waited at the table floated through his mind. “Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. One good thing about the city, huh? The food.”  
  
She nodded as if he had said something profound.  
  
“Anyway, uh...thank you,” he said. “Really. I appreciate it.”  
  
“Oh, of course,” she said, nodding again. “When I found out about your mother, I just knew I had to help in some way. It’s so hard, isn’t it? Losing a family member.”  
  
Kobra’s eyes flickered to the kitchen doorway.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it is.” He leaned forward and hugged her, then headed back to the counter while she climbed back on her motorcycle and cruised away.  
  
\---  
  
Several more Killjoys stopped by as the news spread, bringing fistfuls of desert flowers, tins of food, a small potted cactus, a foam Mousekat keychain with one ear torn off, and two bottles of clear water from Cool Blue. Kobra received several calls on his transmitter; Poison’s transmitter buzzed faintly in the kitchen, ignored. Eventually Ghoul took it and answered Poison’s calls himself. The sky grew dark outside and Jet switched the lights on, which hummed and occasionally flickered.  
  
Kobra sat at the booth with his fingers laced together, studying the small pile of gifts on the table. A girl named Winnie had dropped off a troll doll with a shock of pink hair. The belly button jewel had been pried off. Kobra smiled to himself as he imagined Poison bringing the fake jewel to Junkyard Jack, a traveling salesman, and telling one of his usual outlandish stories about how the jewel was discovered in a ruby mine and displayed in a museum as the world’s first albino ruby, then stolen by a band of thieves and lost in a car chase until it was discovered by Poison when he pried the lid off a can of refried beans and saw the jewel winking at him in the muck...  
  
“You doing okay?” Kobra looked up to see Ghoul standing in front of him.  
  
“Yeah,” Kobra said, the heaviness settling back over him. “Yeah, I guess.”  
  
Ghoul slid into the seat across from him. “We got a lot of stuff, huh?” He picked up the troll doll. “I can’t believe we got one of these. I wanted to ask that chick, what are we supposed to do with this thing?”  
  
“Strap it to the car hood,” Kobra said, smiling sleepily.  
  
Ghoul laughed. “Yeah. Scare the shit out of everybody. Let ‘em know the Killjoys are rolling into town.”  
  
He held the doll between his index and middle fingers and rocked it back and forth for a moment, then set it down and picked up a dark green package with _MRE_ stamped on the front. “Spaghetti with meatballs,” he said. “When’s the last time we had spaghetti?”  
  
“No idea.” Kobra ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a while.”  
  
“Yeah, it has. I love military food. Hey, remember the time we found a box of--”  
  
Ghoul suddenly stopped and turned to the kitchen doorway. Jet had turned in the same direction, squeezing a shirt in the bucket on the counter. Kobra glanced around in confusion, then spotted Poison slowly emerging from the doorway. His stomach dropped.  
  
Poison’s eyes were swollen, red, and watery, and his face and lips were pale. Wet smears glistened around his eyes, and his stringy, tangled hair was matted and hung over his face.  
  
“Hey, man,” Ghoul said with forced casualness. A sudden urge to vomit rose in Kobra’s throat.  
  
“Do you need anything, Poison?” Jet said calmly. Poison’s head jerked toward him. He stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. After staggering over to the booth behind Ghoul, Poison slid into the seat and slouched forward with his hands on the table.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Ghoul said, picking up one of the cans. “We’ve got tons of food. People have been dropping it off all night.”  
  
Poison shook his head. “No, I just--I needed to get out of there.” He pushed his wet hair out of his face and stared down at the tabletop.  
  
Ghoul nodded and watched him for a few moments, then looked at Kobra as if expecting him to do something. Kobra steadied himself, then took a deep breath and got up, walked over to Poison’s booth, and stood by the table. Poison didn’t look up.  
  
“Hey,” Kobra said awkwardly. Poison dully raised his hand in greeting.  
  
“Hey,” he said, his voice flat.  
  
Tears welled up in Kobra’s eyes again. Fighting the urge to run back to his booth, he slowly slid into the seat across from Poison.  
  
“So, uh...how are you doing?” Kobra said.  
  
Poison shrugged, then turned away and rubbed his hair. Kobra frowned. Maybe Poison would open up if he went first.  
  
“You know, I...” Kobra’s voice wavered. “I feel so guilty. All this time we thought she was alive, and...I always thought we’d have time to see her again, you know?”  
  
Poison nodded disinterestedly.  
  
“I feel like we should’ve tried harder to contact her, get her out of there so she could spend a few years in the desert...she’d love it out here, right? She loved nature.”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said. He pressed a hand against his face and turned away. Something hardened inside Kobra.  
  
“Can you pretend to be interested for a few minutes?” he said. “Just humor me, please.”  
  
Poison sighed. “Yeah. Sure. We should have brought her out here.”  
  
“Do you even care, Poison? Do you care about anything besides yourself anymore, or am I just talking to a drugged-up zombie?”  
  
“Kid, I don’t know what you want me to say--”  
  
“Well, why don’t you take another handful of pills and see what you come up with.”  
  
“I’m not on the pills.”  
  
“Yeah? Because you sure as hell act like it. Did you find a dealer here in the Zones? Maybe got Chow Mein to hook you up?”  
  
“Kobra--” Jet began, but Poison waved him off.  
  
“It’s fine.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Kid, I would love to be able to tell you I’m on the pills. But I’m not. It’s more complicated than that.”  
  
“Then what’s wrong?” Kobra’s voice became strained. “Why are you acting like this? Why are you doing this to me?”  
  
“Just stop it, Kid.”  
  
“Stop? I’m not going to stop, Poison! I’m sick of this bullshit! Tell me right now what your problem is!”  
  
Poison gave Kobra a disgusted look.  
  
“What? Don’t just look at me like that! Tell me!”  
  
Poison shook his head. “Not when you’re acting like this.”  
  
“Oh my God--” Kobra suddenly stood up, his nerves charged with adrenaline. “You know what, man? Fuck you.”  
  
Ghoul stood up and turned around. “Kobra, you need to stop it--”  
  
“No.” Kobra grabbed his jacket, which he had draped over the other booth, and shoved his arms through the sleeves. “No, I’m done. I’ve tried reaching out to this asshole, and he just throws it right back in my face. Well, fuck you. I’m done.”  
  
Ghoul started to shout something, but he burst through the door in a blind fury and stumbled down the sidewalk. As he walked past the gas station, his rage suddenly exploded and he punched the vending machine. His knuckles ached, but he roared and punched it again and again, pounding against the thin metal. Finally he stood back, panting and clutching his hand. He glanced down at his knuckles. The skin was raw and cracked, and dotted with beads of blood. A dull ache throbbed beneath the skin. He winced and cradled his hand, and thought about going back to the diner and bandaging his hand. But Ghoul’s angry shouts and Poison’s listless expression flashed in his mind. He shook himself, cradled his injured hand, and continued down the road.


	3. Chapter 3

The stars had come out by the time Kobra spotted the first concrete buildings that marked the town border. A bright orange-and-yellow sunset had been painted on the side of the building on the left, with the words _Welcome to Sunburst_ in blue letters beneath it. Kobra walked past brick and concrete buildings with peeling paint, curtains or wooden planks for doors, sheets hanging over broken windows, and gnarled shrubs, prickly bushes, and tall weeds sprouting around the foundations. Kerosene lamps flickered inside some buildings, and others glowed with the steady, dim light of a single lightbulb. Two children inside a fenced-in yard kicked a rubber ball stamped with a Mousekat face. A charred, meaty smell wafted from one of the houses.  
  
Eventually Kobra came to a wood-paneled building with a roofed porch. The porch was lined with plastic chairs, lawn chairs, and a green recycling bin. A red sign near the door read _The Burning Tire,_ with a flaming tire painted beneath _._ A woman in a blue-and-white striped shirt stepped out, holding a plastic cup stained with green liquid. She grinned at Kobra as she passed. He smiled weakly and raised a hand in greeting, then ducked his head under the low doorway and stepped inside.  
  
The bar was cramped and hummed with conversation. The wall behind the counter was painted dark red, while the other three walls were bare. A Zone map hung on the back wall, along with a round clock, a bulletin board, mounted deer antlers, and a few framed photographs. A few lightbulbs were strung from the ceiling, and candles glowed at every table. Along the right wall was a wood-paneled counter with cushioned black bar stools. Behind the bar were shelves that held colored glass bottles with different names scrawled on their labels. Most of the bottles held no liquid, and a few held only an inch or two. Next to a shelf that held rows of mismatched cups and shot glasses was another, smaller shelf that held a small television set, a bulky radio transmitter covered in knobs and dials, and a stack of dusty books. Nailed to the wall above the television set was a Better Living calendar with a photo of a blocky white building.  
  
Several people looked up when Kobra stepped in. A girl in a white vest caught his eye, and he quickly looked away. _Oh God, no, not tonight,_ he thought, but the girl was already hurrying his way.  
  
“Hey there, Kid!” Josie said. “I didn’t think we’d see you out here tonight. How are you doingYou doing all right?”  
  
Josie wore a white vest with a round pink patch, a pink, blue, and yellow-striped shirt, and a stained pair of blue jeans. Her dark hair was tied back in a floppy ponytail, and clumps of bangs spilled over the side of her face.  
  
“Uh...yeah, I’m okay,” he said weakly.  
  
“Yeah? That’s good. I’m so sorry about what happened. Losing a parent. That’s rough.”  
  
He nodded silently, and she nodded back.  
  
“Well, I thought you guys could use some tuneage,” Josie said. She pulled three cassette tapes from her pocket, tied with a rubber band. “That last one there is new,” she said. “No one else has heard it yet, so keep it on the down low.”  
  
Kobra pulled off the rubber band and flipped through the tapes.   
  
_JOSIE AND THE FIREBOMBS: Three Fiery Hits!!  
Hot Punch: 1. Hit the Floor 2. Neil Miller 3. Three Ways to Fame 4. The Crow and the Scare-crow  
TRANS AMerica New Demo  
  
_ He laughed a little and held up the last tape. “Are you sure you should give me this one? Their snipers won’t take me out?”  
  
Josie laughed. “Nah, their last demo was leaked three months before they officially came out with it, and no lives were lost. Can’t say I recommend it, though.”  
  
He nodded, then slipped the tapes in his jacket pocket. “Right. Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” She shook his hand, then bounced over to a friend who was calling her from across the bar. Kobra turned toward the counter, but a short woman with tanned, leathery skin hurried up to him with a sympathetic look on her face. Kobra held back a sigh and tried to smile politely.  
  
After greeting several Killjoys and accepting their sympathy, he finally sat down at the bar, squeezed between a beefy bearded man and a woman wearing a red coat and headband. The woman glanced at him but said nothing. He pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket and flipped through it. Six carbons, his Zone ID, proof of residency, a few coins, a folded-up orange flier…  
  
The bartender appeared in front of Kobra, a man with a round face, a thin mouth, and large, shadowy eyes. Lank dark hair hung on either side of his face. He wore a tan shirt with a dark brown stain along the side and black suspenders. In his left hand he clutched a bottle half-full of bright green liquid.  
  
“Good evening, sir,” he said, resting the bottle on the counter. “What can I get for you?”  
  
“Hey. What do you have?”  
  
“Well…” He turned back and scanned the shelves. “We’ve got a glass of wine from Golden Valley, and a shot of gin.”  
  
“How much for the gin?”  
  
“Three carbons, sir.”  
  
Kobra froze, his hand in his wallet. “Three carbons?”  
  
“Yes sir. It’s been hard to come by lately.”  
  
“All right, uh…how about the wine?”  
  
“That would be...” He turned and checked. “Four carbons.”  
  
“ _Four_ carbons? I don’t think food costs that much, man.”  
  
“Well, it’s a good wine.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s true…what’s in that bottle there?”  
  
The bartender held up the bottle of green liquid. “This? Lime B. L. I. Fruit-Aid.”  
  
Kobra laughed incredulously. “ _Fruit-Aid?_ ”  
  
“Yes sir. We bought a sack of mixes from that pawn shop fellow out there.”  
  
“Chow Mein?”  
  
He pointed at Kobra. “Yes. That’s it. Are you interested?”  
  
Kobra thought for a moment, then shook his head in defeat. “Yeah. Sure. How much?”  
  
“Half a carbon.”  
  
“Half a carbon? All right. I’ll take two.”  
  
Kobra took out a carbon and passed it across the counter. The bartender folded it and slid it in his pocket.  
  
“Do you have a glass?” he said.  
  
Kobra blinked, then his hands flew to his pockets. “Oh, _shit._ No, I forgot. I’m sorry.”  
  
“That’s all right, sir,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of glasses here. Just pass me the collateral.”  
  
He patted the counter and Kobra slid over another carbon. The bartender took a small leather book from beneath the counter and wrote something down, tucked the carbon between the pages, and placed it back under the counter and turned back to the shelves. He ran his finger over the glasses, muttering to himself, then picked up a tall glass with the state of California painted on it. Beneath the state were blue letters that read _National World Volleyball Championship 1959.  
  
_ “Is this one all right?” the bartender said. Kobra nodded. He placed it on the counter and poured in two inches of Fruit-Aid, then slid the glass over to Kobra.  
  
“There you are, sir,” he said. “Enjoy.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re very welcome.”  
  
The bartender nodded and smiled at him, then turned to a blue-haired girl who was impatiently thrusting her empty glass in the air.  
  
Kobra took a sip of the Fruit-Aid, then winced. Sickly-sweet fruity flavor flooded his mouth. It coated the inside of his mouth and his tongue, leaving a sour aftertaste. A memory of eight-year-old Poison sticking out his tongue to show Kobra his blue popsicle-stained tongue flashed in his mind, and he took another drink to distract himself. The second sip was less pungent.  
  
While he drank, he arranged the cassette tapes on the counter. After Poison had bought his first Trans America tape at a concert three years ago, he’d played it on repeat in the car for a week straight, until Ghoul yanked it out and jammed it in his pocket and told Poison he wouldn’t get it back until he agreed to a five-plays-per-week rule. Afterward, Poison had radioed Dr. Death Defying during every Request Hour, eagerly reading one of the song titles off the back of the cassette tape. Poison had attended five concerts, and kept a Polaroid photo of him and the band locked in a metal box in the storage room that held their emergency funds. Maybe Poison would light up when he saw the tape. Maybe Kobra would finally break through to him, see a glimmer of a smile on his face...  
  
 _“Hey, I got something at the bar.” Kobra pulled the tape out of his pocket and held it up. “Remember when you were obsessed with these guys?”  
Poison stared blankly at the tape, then took it and peered closely at the writing. Excitement flashed in his eyes.  
“You like it?” Kobra said, grinning.  
“Y-yeah,” Poison said. He rubbed his nose. “Yeah. Wow, I haven’t listened to them in ages...where’d you get this?”  
“At The Burning Tire,” said. “That girl, uh, Josie gave it to me. The one in Josie and the Firebombs?”  
Poison nodded. “How much was it?”  
“It was free. You want to listen to it now?”  
Poison cracked a smile. “Is Ghoul gonna throw a fit?”  
“Who cares, he’s made us listen to Axe ‘n’ Grind long enough.”  
“That’s true. Is this new stuff?”  
“Yup. All new. Come on, let’s go get the tape player.”  
Glowing with excitement, Poison stood up and followed Kobra to the storage room...  
  
_ “Are you all right there, sir?”  
  
Kobra looked up to see the bartender leaning toward him, wiping a shot glass with a dark green towel. __  
  
“Y-yeah,” Kobra said quickly, sitting up and wiping his bleary eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yeah, I...I’ll be fine.” He raised a hand and tried to smile reassuringly. The bartender nodded, then grabbed the bottle of gin from the shelf and filled the shot glass for another patron.  
  
An hour and a half later, Kobra had drank two more inches of Fruit-Aid, stacked and rearranged and toyed with the cassettes, and accepted sympathy from a few more Killjoys. He wished that he hadn’t worn his distinctive red jacket. Now there were only three patrons left in the bar, talking quietly at one of the tables behind him. The California glass was stained green on the bottom and along the side. Kobra sat with his head propped up with his hand, playing with the Trans America tape.  
  
He paused, then pushed the glass across the counter. “Thanks, man,” he said.  
  
“Finished, sir?” the bartender said.  
  
“Yeah, I’m going to take off.” He sighed and slipped the tapes in his jacket pocket. “It’s been a long night.”   
  
The bartender tucked the glass beneath the counter, then took out the leatherbound book, opened it to the page with Kobra’s name, and handed him the carbon. Kobra shook his hand and quietly thanked him, placed it back in his wallet, and headed out.  
  
A gust of fresh air hit him in the face when he opened the door, ruffling his hair and jacket. More windows were illuminated by lightbulbs and firelight. A neon orange glow stick hung in the window of the house across the road, casting a bright orange glow. An elderly woman with wispy black hair sat in a rocking chair on the porch, slicing potatoes in a bowl. She nodded once at Kobra. He nodded back, then continued down the road.  
  
A circle of men and women in plastic chairs sat between two of the houses, illuminated with a bright yellow-orange glow. A flickering fire crackled and popped inside a circle of rocks. Someone whooped, and Kobra turned to see a young boy fly past on a purple bicycle, wearing a black helmet with a skull-and-crossbones painted in silver. The sand scattered across the crumbled blacktop crunched beneath his boots, and the smell of gasoline, cooked meat, and smoke filled the air. The night air was pleasantly cool, and the sky was dark, with a crescent moon and a few stringy clouds.  
  
A girl in a black tank top pushed a shopping cart down the road with her back hunched and her eyes fixed on the road. The cart jiggled and clattered on the rocky pavement. Inside the cart was a pile of clothes, a bunched-up tarp, a few cans of food, and a yellow flashlight. For a moment, Kobra considered giving her a carbon, but a numb uncaring had settled over him. They walked past each other in silence.  
  
Kobra’s mother would have enjoyed this trip. She had taken her sons to the local biodome every weekend to get away from the choking exhaust fumes, purring engines, and rows of steel buildings. They paid seven carbons at the entrance, then stepped into a vast dome carpeted with lush green grass, towering leafy trees, clumps of bushes and flowers, a stream, wooden benches, and a neat concrete walking path. Fresh air hit their senses as soon as they stepped inside, followed by the gurgling of the stream and simulated birdsong. Their mother swept in front of them in a flowery dress, pointing out the brightly colored flowers and kneeling down and inviting them to sweep their hands over the soft grass. Kobra’s eyes filled with tears. Why hadn’t they tried to bring her to the Zones? Why hadn’t they tried harder to contact her? She could have spent her remaining years in the fresh outdoor air, taking nature walks every night, the sand crunching beneath her sandals and her sundress billowing in the wind.  
  
The road ahead became blurry and dissolved into a watery grey mass. Candlelights became bright, doubled, and sharp-pointed, like he viewed them through a kaleidoscope. Tears streamed down Kobra’s face. He staggered over to the nearest porch steps and cradled his face in his hands. The world around him was swallowed up by his grief as he sank into a black pit. His mother gone, his brother as good as gone--what did he have to live for now?   
  
For an instant, when Poison had hovered in front of the kitchen doorway and locked eyes with him, he’d almost believed that Poison would awake from his daze, hurry over to Kobra, and wrap his arms around him and squeeze him tight. And when he sat in the bar, his eyes flickered over to the door whenever it creaked open, half-expecting to see Poison there, a dim but determined look on his face. But Poison was probably still sitting in the diner booth with his hair draped over his face, staring down at the tabletop, silent and still.  
  
Kobra leaned against the railing and closed his eyes. Deep exhaustion settled over him. He wanted to be at home on his mattress, curled up in a ball under the blanket, like a child in the womb. Or tucked in his childhood bed, with eight-year-old Party Poison sleeping in the bed next to him, and their mother’s footsteps approaching in the hall as she came to wake them up for school...


	4. Chapter 4

A steady movement beneath him. Kobra shifted and stirred. Had he fallen asleep in the car? But there was no hot leather beneath him, and he wasn’t lying on his back. There was a slight bouncing and pressure beneath his underarms and his knees, and a strangely empty space in between...  
  
“Shit, he’s waking up--” someone whispered.  
  
Kobra opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of a man with green hair and dark-rimmed glasses carrying his legs. He looked down and realized that the pressure on his underarms was a pair of hands that gripped the sides of his ribcage. Panic surged through him. He twisted and struggled, and they cried out and dropped him on the hard ground. Kobra’s head knocked against a chunk of pavement and he winced, then pushed himself up, yanked his gun out of the holster, and pointed it first at the green-haired man, then at--Ghoul?  
  
Kobra slowly lowered the gun, breathing hard. Ghoul paused, then reached out a hand and helped him to his feet.  
  
“Sorry,” Kobra said, his face hot with embarrassment  
  
“It’s okay,” Ghoul said. “We were just carrying you to the backseat. This guy radioed us and told us you were asleep on his porch. He didn’t want to wake you up, because he said you looked pretty rough.”  
  
The Trans Am was parked in front of the house with the backseat door flung open. Standing in front of the porch was the green-haired man, who had strong, veiny arms, black-rimmed glasses, and a baggy green shirt. The man stared at Kobra with his arms folded and his brow furrowed in confusion. Kobra looked away.  
  
“Thanks, man,” Ghoul said to the man. “Appreciate it.”  
  
“Oh, no problem. I get drunks crashing on my porch all the time. That’s what happens when you’re close to the bar.”  
  
“I’m not drunk,” Kobra said. “I’ve been drinking Fruit-Aid all night.”  
  
The man nodded as if he believed him, then gave Ghoul a _Can you believe this guy?_ look. Ghoul politely raised his eyebrows, then placed an arm around Kobra’s shoulders. He turned and gave the man a final wave, then opened the door, guided Kobra inside, and closed the door and headed for the driver’s seat. Kobra leaned his head against the cool window and closed his eyes. A moment later, the engine roared to life and the car lurched forward.  
  
Kobra closed his eyes and tried to let the drive lull him back to sleep. Wind whistled through the crack where his window didn’t completely close. The car shook and jiggled over the rough pavement. Each time he started to fall asleep, a rough bump jerked him awake. Finally he gave up and stared numbly at the road ahead.  
  
A few minutes later, the car pulled up to the diner. For a second, Kobra thought Poison could be waiting for him, but there was no flickering candlelight or dim electricity shining through the windows. The building was dark.   
  
Ghoul cut the engine. Kobra took off his seatbelt and started to push the door open, but Ghoul grabbed his sleeve.  
  
“Hang on, Kid,” he said. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”  
  
Kobra’s stomach lurched. He slid back in the seat and stiffly turned to Ghoul.  
  
Ghoul sighed and drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “Listen,” he said finally. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but--”  
  
Kobra groaned.  
  
“No, listen to me. You need to be more patient with Poison. I know it’s hard, but--”  
  
“I need to be more patient? Dude, I’ve been trying to get through to him for months. He doesn’t care. It’s over.”  
  
“What’s over?”  
  
“Everything. Our relationship.”  
  
“You know that’s not true.”  
  
“No, I think I doknow.”  
  
“He’s depressed, Kid. You know this. It’s not permanent.”  
  
“He can’t even come out of it when our mother is dead? He can’t take five seconds to show that he cared about her? Or me?”  
  
There was a pause.  
  
“This isn’t like you,” Ghoul said quietly. “Did you ever consider that, uh...that you might be depressed, too?”  
  
Kobra shrugged disinterestedly.  
  
“You’re not yourself, Kid. You know? A few months ago, I never would’ve thought that you’d be sitting in the car right now, telling me that everything was hopeless.”  
  
He didn’t respond.  
  
“Well, while you were out, Jet and I looked into a few places. There’s a woman a few miles west of here with a degree in psychiatry from the city. We thought you could visit her, maybe once a week when we go to Chow Mein’s to get fuel. She said she’s up for it.”  
  
Kobra nodded, too weary to feel hopeful.  
  
“There’s something else,” Ghoul said tentatively. “We thought, uh...we thought you and Poison should go together.”  
  
“Together? At the same time?”  
  
“Yeah. We think--”  
  
“Oh, no.” He laughed humorlessly. “No, I’m not going to sit there for an hour while he refuses to talk to me.”  
  
Ghoul tried to laugh along. “He better not refuse, we’re paying three carbs an hour for this.”  
  
“Well, you’re wasting your money. He’s not going to talk to me.”  
  
“You do the talking, then. Tell him what you just told me.”  
  
“I have told him. I’ve told him for the last three months, and he doesn’t give a shit.”  
  
“Kobra--” Ghoul rubbed his face with his hands. “Look, that’s another thing Jet and I talked about. We’ve let you get away with being a dick to Poison for too long.”  
  
“I’m being a dick? He treats me like garbage, he won’t listen to me, he won’t talk to me, he won’t even make _eye contact_ \--” Kobra counted off the crimes on his fingers.  
  
“Because whenever he tries to talk to you, it always ends with you yelling at him and storming off!”  
  
“He doesn’t try to talk to me! He just clams up!”   
  
“You need to be patient! Did you ever stop and think that you’re probably making him feel like shit? You never give him a chance, you just shut down right away, and then you get pissed off at him because he won’t talk to you! Maybe he’s afraid to talk to you, because it leads to the same argument every time!”  
  
Kobra started to protest, but the earlier scene at the diner flashed in his mind. And a similar scene at the mechanic’s last Friday, and one on the drive home from the market a week ago, and the other scenes scattered throughout the past three months...  
  
He sank weakly back in his seat, then covered his face with his hands. Ghoul placed a hand on his shoulder. After a few minutes, Kobra lowered his hands and rested them in his lap. He leaned back and looked miserably up at the ceiling, his eyes wet.  
  
“I tried to help him in the beginning,” he said weakly. “I tried to be patient, but I couldn’t take it, not being able to talk to him or joke around, you know-- we always used to joke around when we went on drives, but now the rides are so silent-- and I thought if I got mad, he’d see how much this shit was affecting me and he’d snap out of it, but it just got worse, and he’d--” Kobra choked on the words. “And he’d talk to people we don’t even know, strangers, like everything was normal, but he couldn’t talk to me. It was like he was a zombie, or a Better Living droid, and sometimes I wished he was because then the real Poison would still be out there somewhere--but then he’d talk to those people, and I knew it was just him, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.” He pushed the wet hair out of his face. “I never wanted to hurt him. I just wanted it all to end.”  
  
Ghoul listened attentively while he spoke, then rubbed his shoulder when he finished. “I know, Kid,” he said gently. “I know you tried. It’s not all your fault. Jet and I should have stepped in a long time ago. We didn’t want to deal with it, but--we can’t ignore it anymore.” He paused. “We’ll talk to him in the morning, okay?”  
  
Kobra wiped his eyes and nodded. Ghoul patted his shoulder, and they opened the doors and stepped out of the car.  
  
The moonlight shone through the large windows behind the booths, illuminating everything in front of the counter with a dark bluish glow. Steel shelves behind the counter gleamed in the moonlight. Kobra followed Ghoul to the storage closet, then took a thick glass cup with a blackened, smoky rim. Inside was a melted white candle with wax drippings pooled around the bottom. Kobra held the cup while Ghoul lit the wick with his lighter, then headed for the kitchen.  
  
He slipped his gun from his holster with his free hand, then held up his candle and examined the room. He crept around the large steel grill, the silent refrigerator, the sink, and the large preparation table with compartments that once held hamburger condiments. No one was there except Poison, who snored quietly on his mattress. He lay on his side on top of his blanket, facing the wall. Kobra quickly turned away and placed the candle on the counter with a _thunk_.  
  
After unlocking the cabinet beneath the table, Kobra tugged off his boots, pants, jacket, and shirt and stuffed them inside. He pulled out a baggy black T-shirt and slipped it on, then locked the cabinet, rehung the key around his neck, and stood up to blow out the candle.   
  
Suddenly he realized that Poison’s snores had disappeared, replaced with uneven breathing. His stomach churned.   
  
“Poison?” he said, trying to keep his voice strong. “You awake?”  
  
“M-hmm.”  
  
Kobra stared down into the candle, his mind racing. The bright yellow light jumped and danced on the wick, reflected in the pool of hot wax surrounding it. Kobra drummed his fingertips on the table, glanced back at Poison, then leaned over and blew out the candle. Instantly the room was pitch black.  
  
Kobra stepped over to Poison’s mattress. He hesitated, then sat down and laid his gun at his feet. The box springs creaked beneath his weight. Poison muttered something and shifted away from him. Kobra sighed, then nervously cracked his knuckles.  
  
“Listen, uh...” he said. “I want to talk to you. About the way I’ve been lately.”  
  
Poison sighed and let his arm flop down on the mattress. “It’s fine,” he said resignedly. The familiar anger rose inside Kobra, but Ghoul’s words flashed in his mind.  
  
“No, I mean it, man. I’ve been a dick to you lately. Ghoul and I talked about it in the car, before I came in here, and he’s right. I didn’t believe it at first, but...I should’ve given you a chance. I should’ve been more patient. I don’t know what you’re going through, but...God knows I haven’t made it any easier.”  
  
Poison didn’t respond, but the tense atmosphere started to ease.  
  
“I just--I just don’t know how to deal with this. I’m sorry. I used to think that if you ever got like this again, I’d know what to do, but when you started getting bad again I panicked, because I didn’t want to go through this, I just wanted you to snap out of it--” He sighed and covered his mouth with his hand. “But that doesn’t matter. Look, uh...I miss what we used to do together. I miss joking around in the car, and those stories you used to come up with, and your Trans America obsession...” He paused, but Poison didn’t laugh. “I just. I want to help you, man. You’re my brother. I want to help you get better.”  
  
Kobra took a shaky breath, then tucked his hands between his knees and waited for Poison’s response. His heart pounded. Suddenly the mattress creaked and groaned, making Kobra jump. The mattress sunk heavily beside him and Poison’s arm brushed against his. He sat silently next to Kobra in the pitch darkness.  
  
“Poison?” Kobra said quietly. There was a sniffing sound, and Kobra imagined Poison rubbing his nose in thought.  
  
“I don’t know what else to say, man,” Kobra said finally. “I just can’t stand seeing you like this anymore. You know, Ghoul mentioned a therapist, he said we can go there together. Figure all this out.”  
  
No response. Kobra held back a frustrated sigh. After all he said to Poison, was he going to receive nothing but more silence?  
  
Suddenly, Poison shifted on the mattress. “Yeah,” he said wearily, but with sincerity. “Yeah, we should go.”  
  
Kobra looked over in surprise. “You think so?”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I...we need to talk, Kid. I’ve been making you miserable. I’ve made all the guys miserable.”  
  
Sympathy suddenly washed over Kobra. “Oh, no, it’s not your fault. You’ve been sick, man--”  
  
“No, I should have done something.” He sighed bitterly. “I thought I knew how to handle this shit after the last time, but the past few months have been like sinking into a black hole. Except this time, I’ve been dragging you down with me.”  
  
Kobra hesitated, then placed a hand on his back and rubbed it gently.  
  
“I should have acted earlier,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just--I didn’t want to deal with it--”  
  
“I know, Kid. It’s okay,” Poison said softly. He reached out and patted his knee. “Don’t guilt yourself over it.”  
  
“I know, but when I talked to Ghoul--”  
  
“Don’t worry about what Ghoul said. Listen to me. I’m your brother.”  
  
A smile started to creep onto Kobra’s face.  
  
“Hey, uh...I got something for you. At the bar.” He fished the tapes out of his pocket and reached for Poison’s hand, then pressed the tapes in his palm. The tapes clicked and shifted as Poison turned them around in his hands.  
  
“What’s this?” he said. “A box of cigarettes?”  
  
“No, it’s--here, let me see it.” Kobra took the tapes and pulled off the rubber band, then handed them back to Poison.  
  
“Oh! It’s tapes!”  
  
“Yup. I got the new Trans America demo, too.”  
  
“Really?” There was a hint of enthusiasm in Poison’s voice. “Is it any good?”  
  
“Don’t know. I haven’t listened to it yet. I thought we could check it out tomorrow.”  
  
“Yeah...yeah, we’ll have to.” The mattress shifted, then the springs creaked as Poison jammed the tapes in a slit on the bottom of the mattress. “Thanks, kiddo.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
They sat in silence for several moments. Insects chirped and buzzed outside the diner, and a motorcycle puttered past.  
  
“Are you okay, Kid?” Poison said quietly.  
  
“Me? Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’m more worried about you.”  
  
“No, I--not just about me. I mean about Mom. Everything. Are you going to be okay?”  
  
Kobra shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”  
  
“Talk to me, Kid,” he said.  
  
“Let’s save it for therapy.”  
  
“I mean it. Talk to me.”  
  
He started to refuse again, but Poison placed a hand on his arm. Kobra looked up, paused, and the words started to pour out.  
  
He spoke hesitantly at first, but he grew in confidence as he spoke about the past few months: his frustration toward Poison, his outbursts of anger, walking past each other with their eyes on the ground, the silence that hung in the diner, how his hands shook when Ghoul had told him that he had to drive with Poison today, the gnawing loneliness and guilt. He spoke about their mother’s death, and how happy she would have been in the Zones, if only he’d tried harder to reach her. His voice cracked a few times, and he took deep breaths and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. Eventually he ran out of things to talk about, and he folded his arms, leaned forward, and waited.  
  
“C’mere, Kid,” Poison said in a muffled voice. Kobra turned, and Poison wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Kobra slid his arms around him in return, and they held each other in the dead of night.


End file.
